


What Happened to You?

by MoriadlerAdlerson



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-14
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-24 11:55:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1604261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoriadlerAdlerson/pseuds/MoriadlerAdlerson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was only a couple of years. How bad could it possibly be? If only Irene knew how far her husband had fallen since she had been gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Happened to You?

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Look at Us Both](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1507829) by [therunawaypen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/therunawaypen/pseuds/therunawaypen). 



> For my Anderson (theforensicscientist)
> 
> *Edit: Taking therunawaypen's advice and editing the paragraphs so it's a bit easier to read*

From on and off nights of seeing him, to the year where she faked her first death, then adding the two years where she hid in America when she faked her second death, Irene at one point had to stop and wonder what all this was doing to her husband. She knew he cared about her, and he did vow to keep her safe no matter what. It had been this way since the day they met and became close friends. He must be losing his mind by now. Especially when all of this was far beyond his control. For the first time in forever, she felt terrible for having to keep her silence for so long. But, she had to. She couldn't risk being found out by the government, either British or American; to have them find out that she wasn't actually beheaded by the terrorists in Karachi. Like Mycroft told John, "It would take Sherlock Holmes to fool me." And it was Sherlock himself who had rescued her. Granted, he probably didn't know about her marriage with the man he despised so much.

Unlike Sherlock Holmes, the man she could have bested, or her former employer, Jim Moriarty, Irene's arrival back to London wasn't grand or extravagant. No, there was no point in doing such silly things. It was as easy as a woman, who was a now former dominatrix, walking into the city as if it was just another day. Course, she had to do a couple of renovations to herself, like her hair, clothes, and makeup. People would automatically notice her if she did everything as she normally would. The building of their flat, however, looked exactly as it was when she had to leave. She took a deep breath as she opened the door and walked in. Though, before she could go up the stairs, she heard talking. What was going on up there? She recognized her husband's voice. Then again, who couldn't? It was far too recognizable to go unnoticed. The other voices, though, she didn't have a clue who they belonged to. By the sound of it, or whatever muffles she could pick up, it sounded like they were talking about Sherlock and Jim. Something about death theories and the like, which baffled Irene. Why would her husband, a man who once called the consulting detective such names, like a psychopath and 'freak', talk about such things, and with this much passion?

She heard the meeting come to a close, and she hid in the room behind the stairs while the people were leaving to avoid detection. She wasn't ready for others to know the truth about her. Besides, she came for her husband alone. As soon as everyone left, she cautiously left the room, brushed off her dress, and quietly went up the stairs to the flat. The door was a tad open, so she took a quick peak. From what she could see, the walls were covered with newspaper articles and other things surrounding Sherlock's fall. When she quietly walked in, her husband's back was turned to the door entrance. To her surprise, even without seeing his face, he looked so different from when she last saw him. She guessed Sally hadn't talked to him in a while. "I'm either really early or really late." She finally spoke up, breaking the silence in the awkwardly quiet room.

Anderson had been almost completely lost in thought, still running through possible ways Sherlock could have done it, when he heard the voice that he, at first, didn't recognize. However, it did have a familiar sound to it. "Oh, you're definitely late. The meeting just ended not too long ago." He informed her, still keeping his back to the door.

Irene gave a soft smile. "Well, in the word's of an old friend, did you miss me?" She then asked, trying to sound innocent.

At first, the forensic scientist couldn't quite put two and two together. "What are you talking.... about?" He froze halfway through when he finally turned to see the woman he thought was dead. His face perfectly matching the shock that had just went through his body like he was stunned by a taser, but his body didn't react fast enough to the electrical shock, so all that was left was the feeling. She looked identical from what she looked a long while ago. It was almost as if she didn't age a day.

Irene took the time to examine her husband's face. The beard aged him significantly. A few grey hairs were showing. Probably due to stress and nervousness. The one thing that hasn't changed, though, was his eyes. Those light, blue eyes were exactly as they were those few years ago. The former dominatrix grew a tad worried when he didn't say anything after a while.

"Phillip?" Irene spoke up again, looking straight at him and took a few steps forward. "Sweetheart, are you alright?"

He swallowed a bit of spit. Horror and confusion swam around in his eyes. How could _she_ be alive as well? There was no way anyone could have survived having their head cut off. He tried to speak, but it came out as nearly completely gibberish, almost baby talk in nature. Irene swiftly rushed over and gently took hold of his hands. "Hey, I'm here, love. Just try and calm down." She tried to speak in a more soothing voice, hoping it would help.

Anderson almost came out of his trance-like state, but he was still very much in shock. " _Calm down?_ " He repeated, taking several steps away. " _Calm down!?_ How can I calm down when my dead wife decides to just come back from the dead and show up out of the blue without so much as a single word!?"

Irene winced at the harshness of his tone. She knew he was right, though. "Phillip, please. Just hear me out.." She pleaded desperately. The closes she was ever going to get to true begging.

"Why should I?!" He snarled at her, and huffed off to his room.

Irene followed behind. "Phillip.." She was met with a face full of door when she managed to catch up with him. She tried the doorknob. He locked it. She then knocked on the door. "Phillip, please... just let me explain." There was absolute silence.

Meanwhile, Anderson was fired up. How could she do this to him? He knew she had her secrets, but this one had to be the biggest one yet.

Tears started to stream down from her eyes, and she slid down to her knees. "Sweetheart, you have me on my knees right now. I beg of you, just give me another chance." Her voice was shaking more than someone with Parkinson's disease. Another door slowly opened. 

"Mummy?" A small voice came out.

Irene turned her head, red eyes and all, to see her daughter. "Iris?" She came out just as softly as she was. Iris soon shuffled out of her room, holding her teddy bear close. Irene turned fully around to face her daughter. "Come here, sweetpea." She gently said as she held her arms out, hoping to be able to comfort the both of them. Iris rushed over into her mother's arms.

As the both of them counter-hugged each other, she was happy to have someone who wouldn't shund her away. Her tears came out more silently.

"Mummy? Is everything going to be alright with you and daddy?" She asked her.

Irene gave a soft sigh. "I don't know, sweetie. I really don't." As soon as she said that, Anderson unlocked and opened the door, appearing more calm than he was when he went in. Looking at each other, fear and hurt in her eyes, near neutral feeling in his, he sighed.

"Alright. I'll give you this one chance." He told her, holding up a finger as he spoke.

"Iris, sweetie, mummy and daddy need to have a quick talk." Irene softly informed her daughter, giving her a soft peck on her forehead before getting off her now sore knees and entering the room. Anderson closed the door after her. It was then that everything came out: her involvment with the plane hijacking with the Pakistani terrorists, her small affair with Jim Moriarty, and even mentioned Sherlock saving her from death in Pakistan. "So, you see, I had to leave. I could let you and Iris go through so much just because of me. I'd rather die than see you two hurt in anyway." Irene was once again in tears.

Now everything made sense to Anderson. He gave another sigh. "Sweetie?" He moved to hold her close.

Burying her face into the taller man's chest, she felt some relief in his touch. "I'm just so sorry." She mumbled.

"No, I should be the one who's sorry." He softly tried to comfort her. He hated seeing her this unhappy.

She turned her head to expose her face, but still kept it planted down. "Next time, I'll give a better warning." She was going to make sure to tell him whenever she had to go somewhere.

He nodded, giving her a peck on the top of her head.

Irene lifted her head up to look up at him, leaning up to plant her lips to his, backing out as soon as she went in. Soon, they both went to the door, where Iris was still standing there. Irene bent over to pick her little pride and joy and rested her on her hip. For once, they were going to be able to be a proper family, like they should have been.


End file.
